


The Boy In Blue

by emersonio



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Manchesterstuck, The Boy In Blue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emersonio/pseuds/emersonio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is John Egbert. Every now and then, you get served drama instead of your regular routine. It's not so often, though, that said drama comes hurtling into your life on a steam roller in the form of Vriska Serket.</p><p>2014 EDIT: Going to fix this up at some point, but probably not going to ever finish it. Sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Humanstuck/University AU in which John, Karkat and Jade are all studying at Manchester University while Terezi attends Law School and Vriska generally screws up her entire life. A ongoing fic and work in progress, centering around John<3Vriska and also including Jade<3Karkat and various Scourge Sisters shenanigans.

 

"I can't believe you would do that. I'm... _accustomed_ to hearing bad things about you, but I thought I could change you."

Every single part of your body trembles independently from the others. The tips of your fingers twitch and your legs struggle to do their job, your mind grappling feebly with your motor skills. Your defensive posture is useless, a force of habit. You know she's not going to hit you any more. She's past the point of hitting you, and all she has left are words. 

"But you're a liar, my daughter is a _liar._ A liar and a criminal." Her voice wavers and she begins to wail into her sleeve again, mascara running and staining her perfectly ironed white overcoat. "Where did I go wrong in raising you? What did I do to _deserve_ this?"

You want to lie and fix everything, to twist her around again, to bend her to your will and personal benefit. But it's not going to work this time. She disarms you verbally again, and everything feels and sounds so wrong and out of place, because you know she's right.

"Mum, I-"

"You're not my daughter any more. So don't talk to me like I'm your mother."

Her voice is strong and dripping with anger. When she speaks, every single bone in your body feels like candle wax, so brittle, so soft, so easily broken. And you think that because you know she's going to break you, but only because you broke her. There is absolutely nothing that you can do. Whatever part of you thinks that it's a good idea to smash your mother's ornate vase seizes control of your arms and hands, and you grab the thing and throw it to the ground with a scream. 

"Just what the fuck do you think you're _doing_ , Vriska?" She screams back at you, and she looks for all the world like she's going to explode, her thin blonde hair disheveled, her eyes swollen, her face red. You only see this as more of a reason to retaliate, and you kick over the small table that the vase was on, smashing a mirror in the process. 

"Get out of my house!" Your mother yells right into your face, her breath hot and her voice cracking from its own sheer volume. " _Get the fuck out of my house!_ " 

You want to punch her, but you know it won't do you any good. You're wrong, and she's right, but you refuse to accept it. You know very well that you are not her daughter anymore. 

You make sure to pack your crowbar in your suitcase.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've never seen first-hand just how terrible she supposedly is, so you only have word of mouth to go by. But you don't really want to believe those things, because you think she's kind of sweet. But not the kind of sweet people usually associate with girls. You find it hard to put it into words, so, instead, you like to think of other girls as milk chocolate and Vriska as Pop Rocks. Yes, you think that sums it up rather well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the shippy stuff. More to come.

Your name is John Egbert and you're not sure how you feel about this.

You think it was about two weeks ago that she moved in. Since then she's not only seized nearly your entire apartment and claimed it as her personal playpen, but she's also turned the kitchen - which is actually less of a kitchen and more of a moderately attractive bench with some home appliances plonked onto it plus a built in oven and sink - into a battlefield. On top of the carnage, she's convinced you to be her paintball training buddy on 8 separate occasions. Needless to say, you've been planning elaborate excuses to get out of said 'professional training sessions', but you never really have the heart to tell her no.

 

Of course, Vriska had nowhere else to stay, so you couldn't just leave her. Her mom had kicked her out, but no matter how hard you pressed her, she'd never tell you why. You figured it was a touchy subject, so typically you just let it be. Not that you were surprised; she's got quite the reputation and nearly all of her friends have distanced themselves from her in one way or another. Nobody really trusts her. You've never seen first-hand just how terrible she supposedly is, so you only have word of mouth to go by. But you don't really want to believe those things, because you think she's kind of sweet. But not the kind of sweet people usually associate with girls. You find it hard to put it into words, so, instead, you like to think of other girls as milk chocolate and Vriska as Pop Rocks. Yes, you think that sums it up rather well. 

You swear the girl is some sort of mindreader. As if by a theatrical cue, she swings wide the bedroom door, powering her way out of the cramped room and over to the couch you're sitting on. In one, fluid motion, she swings her body over the armrest, using her arms as a lever and landing with a dull thump, her backside making contact with the cushion. The impact causes you to almost spill your cereal, but by precise and clever movement you manage to avoid a major Fruit Loops catastrophe. 

 

"Good morning, Vriska." You say, returning to your breakfast and speaking inbetween mouthfuls. Even though you're trying to be sort of matter-of-fact, you just end up smiling like the biggest goofball.

"What's your favourite one?" She asks, disregarding your greeting entirely. You give her a puzzled look.

"Favourite one of what?"

"Favourite colour." She indicates the bowl and points to the multitude of colourful loops floating on the layer of milk. 

"They all taste exactly the same!" You reply, scoffing in a mock-baffled manner. 

"The blue ones are the best you know,"

You think for a moment that you should state your point again, but you've come to tolerate (and sometimes even appreciate) her quirky little observations and remarks. As she points, you take a moment to notice her hands. You've always been good at paying attention to details. It's a necessary skill when you're studying film, to be able to pick out the smallest snippets of information from the cinematographic soup. Your attention is immediately drawn to her fingernails, painted a bright blue. Vriska's never been much good at painting her nails, and it's quite a shabby job, peeling off in places and looking very uneven. 

But you still think it looks pretty. You continue to make that observation about the rest of her as your eyes trail up from her fingertips to her shoulders and face, following the pale skin and the folds in her clothing: a grey jumper with "Manchester Paintball" printed on it in red font, along with a shitty clipart picture of a tiger. The tiger is their team's emblem and revered mascot, and any visit to the tiger enclosure at the zoo with Vriska is a less than enjoyable experience, usually with multiple attempts to free the captured animals. You've made absolutely sure that she hasn't brought her megaphone or crowbar into your residence, but you know she'll always find more ways to cause trouble. You don't mind, though, because it keeps things interesting.

"You're zoning out agaaaain," She grabs your attention once more, her vowels loud and drawn out, almost in singsong. Her voice isn't the nicest to listen to, and you can see why people say it. With a North London accent, her speech is peppered with the occasional "innit" and "ain't", and she can sound rather uneducated at times. But her voice is funny, almost _cartoony_ , and bubbly. You're glad she moved here, because sometimes your other friends just don't have the same sort of charm as she does, even though she's from a harsher place. You're very much sure she her family was involved with the London crime scene. It's like everybody there knows somebody in jail.

Sometimes you wonder what she's done, but you know that Vriska Serket wouldn't lie to you.


End file.
